27 THE Snow lies sprinkled on the beach, Shorn of their crests the blighted waves On such a stony, breaking beach He from his dim enchanted caves At feet of his exulting child. Unto a spirit too light for fear His wrath was mirth, his wail was glee :- For to the gain life's summer saves, 28 My spirit kisseth thine, Her graces over me, In the life-kindling fold Of God's breath; where on high, Like a lost world I lie : And o'er my dreaming plains Like what the shepherd sees The huge unclouded sun, 29 ARIEL, O,—my angel, my own,— That makest my heart run over with rhyme, Now indeed I have cause to mourn, Leave me not to my folly: For when thou art with me is none so gay As I, and none when thou'rt away Was ever so melancholy. 30 LAUS DEO LET praise devote thy work, and skill employ Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. Well-doing bringeth pride, this constant thought Humility, that thy best done is nought. Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, Save to praise God; but that hath savèd all : For God requires no more than thou hast done, And takes thy work to bless it for his own. BOOK V DEDICATED TO M. G. K. I THE WINNOWERS BETWIXT two billows of the downs And nothing sees but the bald crowns Clustering beneath the long descent We found it in the mid-day sun High from his load a woodman pitched His faggots on the stack: Knee-deep in straw the cattle twitched Sweet hay from crib and rack: And from the barn hard by was borne A steady muffled din, By which we knew that threshèd corn Was winnowing, and went in. The sunbeams on the motey air One turns the crank, one stoops to feed One stands to hold the sack. We watched the good grain rattle down, Merry they were, because the wheat It chanced we from the city were, But here we found ourselves again. Where humble harvests bring 'Tis merry winnowing. 2 THE AFFLICTION OF RICHARD LOVE not too much. But how, When thou hast made me such, And dost thy gifts bestow, How can I love too much? |